


and one loved her country

by dream_another_dream



Series: the fault in our stars [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, and one loved her country, and so is my creativity, andromeda marries fabian prewett, black sisters, canon is dead, kind of character study, one loved money, one loved power, what if, without any actual study, wizarding war started later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-14 20:28:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18483778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dream_another_dream/pseuds/dream_another_dream
Summary: what if:andromeda black, for all her rebellion, is still a slytherin through and through. she knows the risks of defying parents and raising a child in a world that despises them. when muggle-born ted tonks confesses to her, she turns him away with polite rejection and a curt farewell.instead, she marries fabian prewett.





	1. practicality

**Author's Note:**

> this is kinda a plot dump for an idea i want to start writing later
> 
> heavily inspired by dirgewithoutmusic's what if series

Bellatrix had married Rodolphus Lestrange out of necessity. She was eighteen and vitriolic, too cruel even for some of the most stone-hearted in the pureblood circles, and subservient to no one; Lestrange, five years her senior, shared both her penchant for sadism and a pedigree that stretched past the Middle Ages.

Narcissa had been more selective. She was the beauty of the family, her features delicate where her sisters' were strong, and Lucius Malfoy was handsome, charming, and owned a manor that stretched across a dozen acres of prime British wood.

But Andromeda—rebellious, spiteful Andromeda—despised the cold, restless eyes of her would-be suitors, flinched at the sound of "mudblood" dropping from pale, chapped lips. When Muggle-born Edward Tonks confessed to her shyly at the end of their seventh year, she mulled over the proposal silently. For her parents, it would be the ultimate act of betrayal. Edward promised her love, but love meant a shabby house and scraping through funds and a child brought into a world that despised them.

Andromeda Black, for all her defiance, was still a Slytherin through and through. The next day, she gave Edward a polite rejection and a curt farewell. She could almost hear the sound of his heart breaking into two as she turned away.

 


	2. family portrait

There was a portrait of all three of them hung above the fireplace wall, beside Aunt Walburga's cursed Yuletide vase (covered with a rather gory depiction of a Muggle being burned on the stake as a gaggle of wizards laughed). In it, Narcissa stared owlishly, her pupils shining eerily blue against the flashes of green light that emerged sporadically from the Floo. Bellatrix stared defiantly in the middle, her eyes hooded and vindictive, almost goading. And, positioned in the front, Andromeda was calm and expressionless. _Dignified_ , her mother used to say, _just like a Black should be_.

Narcissa was the favourite daughter, and Bellatrix was the pride. Cyprus III found the son he had always wanted in Bellatrix's cruel boldness, and Druella projected her younger self in clever, beautiful Narcissa.

Andromeda, always too compassionate for a world not quite ready for love, was the afterthought.

Although it hardly mattered; Andromeda didn't care for the pureblood conspiracy that Bellatrix had thrown herself in, nor was she interested in the debutante parties and balls that Narcissa always seemed to be attending.

The summer before her seventh year, she threw herself into schooling, studying herself mad in the family library. It wasn't as comprehensive as the one in 12 Grimmauld Place—(although she wasn't sure if she _wanted_ to study there; some crazed Black ancestor had cursed half the books in there, rendering their contents worthless)—but it was a distraction. She could forget the smell of mud and dirt and clotted blood that Bellatrix tracked home sometime. She could forget the cloying scent of expensive perfume, the ones that sank into the folds of Narcissa's dress robes and left an aftertaste reminiscent of Belladonna.

"You're being such a bore," Bellatrix declared, peering through the walkway that seperated the library from the main hall.

Andromeda hardly acknowledged her. Bellatrix, who was still in the midst of preparations for her wedding, was in one of her moods again, the kinds that left her hostile and irritable.

Bellatrix walked closer, until she was towering over Andromeda's perch on the armchair. "What, not talking? Does wittle bitty Dromeda think she's better than her sisters, now that she reads some big, big books?"

"Don't talk like that, Bella," Andromeda snapped sharply, and by Merlin she was exhausted. There were N.E.W.T.s to take next year, and fifteen essays due by the end of the summer, and twelve textbooks to read, and Slughorn the incompetent fool to worry about ( _and how had she not been invited to the Slug Club, and yet Bellatrix and Narcissa had gotten those distinct green envelopes without trying_ ) and, and, _and_ —

"You aren't any fun anymore," Bellatrix said, looking at her with those dark, smouldering eyes. They seemed to burn into her skull, and she looked away, distinctly uncomfortable. "You've turned so... so plain, these days."

Andromeda watched her leave, and tried not to let the words get to her. It didn't matter, she said to herself. She just needed to study, and become a Healer, and get away from this godawful house.

But the words stung regardless, the open wound exacerbated further by the raw, pulsing pain of the truth. Andromeda was the least desirable for company among her sisters, she knew—Bellatrix was seductive and alluring, Narcissa mysterious and enchanting. And Andromeda, in contrast, was cooped up in the house library in the afternoon of a warm summer day, wearing a faintly musty robe that hadn't been washed in three days.


	3. blind dates and portkeys

For a year after graduation, she worked in the Ministry as an intern for the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad. She had always been clever with spells, as the Os in her transfiguration and charms N.E.W.T.s proved, and soon it became an almost methodological routine— _Finite. Finite. Surgito_.

After that she got her recommendation to transfer to St. Mungo's, where she worked in spell damage recovery. Humans were trickier than objects, but the basic concepts were the same. _Finite_ , she thought. _Offero. Reverte._

Her mother wrote to her frequently. She had moved out of the ancestral Black home into her own flat in Diagon Ally at first opportunity, but it seemed impossible to escape the her mother's hovering presence.

 _Andromeda_ , her mother's slanted handwriting read. It was written in a sort of shimmery ink that changed colors if she stared at it long enough. Mother was particularly fond of it; it had been a gift from Narcissa after a summer trip abroad in France.

The letter was the same as the one that had been sent before, which was in turn the same as the one sent before _that_.

 _I hope you'll come back to your senses soon and stop fooling around with your life_ , the words read, and Andromeda could imagine her mother's stern face as she furiously scribbled the quill on parchment. _It's not proper for an unmarried witch to be alone in the proximity of so many men, especially half-breeds and Mudbloods. I must note that your father's good friend Avery has just introduced me to his three lovely young sons, all of whom are handsome and of good pedigree..._

It had been Evan Rosier last week, the son of a cousin of her mother's who her mother professed to be quite witty and well-spoken; and Thorfinn Rowle two weeks prior, who was apparently handsome despite his somewhat lacking intelligence.

In her own twisted way, Andromeda realized, her mother worried for her. Bellatrix was too independent to be fussed over, and Narcissa had Lucius Malfoy wrapped twenty different times over her pale white fingers. And Andromeda, who ran amuck after curfew with Muggle-born witches and shivered when Uncle Orion came too close, was the weak link. _She's too easily led astray_ , her mother had said once, when she thought Andromeda was asleep. _What if the blood traitors try to come for my daughter..._

Still, it felt vexing to be coddled. Andromeda read the letters as any dutiful daughter should, but simply neglected to respond. Half of the letters were scattered in various piles of envelopes over the floor of her flat, the other half vanished away in frustration.

Her mother resorted to setting up blind dates. Andromeda ignored them. Her mother Portkeyed one of the letters. She only remembered trying to toss away the paper when suddenly she was staring at the astonished wizard sitting in front of her at Madam Puddifoot's (a Crabbe, evidently, judging by his generous frame).

She cursed under her breath. The man in front of her grew even more astonished, when, a moment later, she charmed her teacup into a slug and stormed out of the cafe.

"You can't keep scaring off perfectly good young men," Druella Black said disapprovingly, after two ensuing dates failed in a similar fashion.

"Stop sending unregistered Portkeys," Andromeda replied furiously. "I'll report you to the Ministry."

"Your father _is_ the Ministry," Druella replied, and sipped at her tea.


	4. insecurity

Her sisters watched the ongoing drama with amusement. Andromeda had a growing hunch Narcissa was the anonymous source her mother seemed to provide all those single, pureblood wizards from.

"Even Goyle doesn't want you," said Bellatrix, laughing, as Andromeda stormed the family home to once again confront her mother. Narcissa's shoulders shook with barely contained mirth.

"Goyle's taste is just as bad as yours," Andromeda snapped back, and tried not to feel slighted.

But late at night, her mother's words from so long ago would echo in her mind. _Just what will we do about Dromeda?_

Just what would they do with her, indeed.


	5. dromeda, plain and tall

Before her sisters had married, the three of them had been collectively known as the Black Sisters. They were the well-bred, well-fed, well-read of society, the darlings of Pureblood Society.

Andromeda had her fair share of suitors, but they all eyed her with casual interest and seemed far more invested in the Black legacy and Gringott vaults. She didn't have the means to drag their hearts in: hook, line, sinker, like her sisters—but she also lacked the interest. The men seemed to sense her coldness, and stayed wary. There were other rich heiresses to court, other young ladies with gold vaults and pure bloodlines rivalling hers.

She stopped attending public events after her fifth year in Hogwarts. While Bellatrix balanced N.E.W.T.s and ballgowns like it was the easiest thing in the world, she instead sat quietly in her room, studying earnestly for her O.W.L.s. She knew by then she wanted to be a healer—she didn't care for fighting or the haughty glory Aurors seemed to carry around, nor did she want to settle for long hours of paperwork and diplomacy like her father.

"You'll never meet anyone, cooped up like that," her mother sniffed, and Flooed Theodora Greengrass to complain about her errant daughter.


	6. meeting fabian

The man was covered with blood and shaking so hard he could barely stand—and yet he was struggling out of the bed, pushing past the Healers in desperation to check on the condition of a far less injured teammate.

Andromeda hurried past an intern and forced him onto the bed.

"I _have_ to see him," said the man, frenzied and panicking.

"You, sir, are a menace," Andromeda hissed. She looked around, and then grimaced at the realization that a Calming Draught was useless in this situation. "Worry about yourself first, before you concern yourself with somebody else."

"I have to see him," the man repeated.

Andromeda, tired of dealing with all the macho bravado from braindead Aurors who thought they knew everything when they _clearly didn't_ , grabbed a nearby (clean) bedpan and whammed it onto his head.

The man fell over, out cold.

"Ma'am," said the intern, her voice shaking.

"Until we undo all the curses on him, using magic could very well overwhelm his body and kill him," Andromeda said matter-of-factly. "Using blunt force is safer." She looked at the man. "Plus, he's an Auror. They're _resilient_."


End file.
